


Lost Heroes

by Graytrickster



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Claude is trying his best, Comic Book Science, Comic Book Violence, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Post-Time Skip, Rebuilding, Unresolved Emotional Tension, assumed dead, comic book politics, lost/found connections, lots of action scenes, superhero au, trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graytrickster/pseuds/Graytrickster
Summary: FIVE YEARS AGO, HEROES DISSAPEARED FROM THE WORLD. The Centralized Institution of Heroes suffered a grave attack. Agarthans laid siege against the corrupted Institution, taking the lives of innocent students enrolled in the Heroes Academy to ensure their grab for power. Those who survived scattered across the globe.Now, five years after the Collapse, the Agarthans have resurfaced. Having been unsuccessful in their attempt of replacing the Heroes Institution after its total destruction. They now aim to make up for lost time.Claude von Riegan, a former class leader who led the evacuation of the Academy’s student body, is going to ensure their failure. He rises as the hero Verdant, calling on his former classmates to come out of hiding and end this cycle of tyranny. And within Claude's efforts of locating his old classmates, the young hero who sacrificed himself at the Collapse is found. Dimitri, alive but seemingly changed beyond recognition, living as a deadman in the city of Fhirdiad.Can Claude convince Dimitri to join forces? Will Dimitri ever step into the light as the symbol of hope his father once was? Will his feelings get in the way?The Lost Generation of Heroes will be resurrected.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. COVER PAGE (+bonus graphics!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> COVER PAGE AND BONUS GRAPHICS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOBILE USERS can view graphics [ on twitter mobile app for convenience](https://twitter.com/grayvamp/status/1350160943058194434?s=20)


	2. PROLOUGE: destruction; ressurection; recollection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Claude stands at the beginning of a new age of heroes, the pains of the past catch up to him. It's important to know what the world was if he aims to change it for the better, but there are some people who will never get to see the future he makes.
> 
> This is kinda world building and heavy exposition, as well as Claude's introspection. The following chapters will not be so dense, but it's important to know the setting.
> 
> TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING: dissociation, child neglect, blood loss, violence, death of a friend

Now, a tacky late night Cafe in the middle of Fhirdiad might not seem like the kind of place you'd find a superhero- and you'd be right. With the exception of Claude himself, there wasn't a supernaturally powered person within the freshly gentrified restaurant. None hiding under its low ceilings or chalk board menus. He checked.

Hell, Claude himself was barely there, having mentally checked out a little bit after midnight. He was burnt out, only registering the time when the slate at his corner table got replaced, this one containing the special _insomniacs menu,_ neon chalk paint and expensive sandwiches catering to rich college kids who found excitement in their reckless sleeping habits. He only came here because Sylvain suggested going out and seeing the city to clear his head. Though in retrospect, he had probably been suggesting clubbing, seeing as how it was _Sylvain_ and  Claude was feathering along the edges. Maybe his burn out was a long time coming if it landed him here, doing more work while huddled in the corner of a gimmicky restaurant. 

This was the kinda place Hilda would've dragged him to when the Heroes Institution still stood. When the Academy still, literally, stood. When it was more than rubble and dead kids far into an abandoned private property. When the idea of it being less than bustling seemed impossible. The halls were always filled with heroes young and old- mostly young, mostly in training. There weren't a lot of old heroes left anymore.

It was teenagers with budding superpowers tripping over themselves in the simulation of a normal high school experience, including those aged well below or above high school who knew no normality so they held tight to the recreation of it. Eager to do good like the generations of heroes before them, to prove themselves to those whose powers they inherited or those whose powers had them shunned.

Claude was part of the latter. It was hard not to get swept away in the social dances of the Academy, indulging in it as he grew closer to the people he relied on and led, digging out a little place for himself to feel like he belonged.

But it was fragile. Broken and gone within a single night.

The news had called them the lost generation of heroes. The full incident had never been disclosed to the media, but when reports of young people flying through the sky was a whopping zero, people were bound to notice something was up. Yet all the world really knew was that something awful happened, the Heroes Institution was gone overnight, and now there weren't heroes anymore.

The Academy of Heroes hadn’t been perfect or without fault, in fact it had a huge pile of shady business- a place that recruited vulnerable kids to live together and work for them was always going to be a cult, no matter how much objective good they did. But it was something everybody knew, something centralizing- something Claude had the goal of recreating but _better_ once he had graduated. Better and not limited to the continent of Fodlan. A goal he set on his very first day at the Academy.

His, along with everyone else's plans for the future were cut off and destroyed when the attack happened.

The Agarthans invaded the Academy with the purpose of tearing down the Institution- with the side goal of killing as many students as they could. Killed for potential loyalty to the Heroes Institution. Killed before they were given the freedom of a choice of loyalty, killed before they could be emboldened with the courage that fighting for what you believe in gave. Killed because Edelgard thought the risk of beliefs that didn’t align with her own was too great, and would rather the certainty of death than take the chance to radicalize others into understanding. His classmates were seen as potential threats first and humans last, and they died for it. Edelgard took the methodology of the exact people she claimed she was standing against and saw no issue with that because nothing else mattered but domination over those who challenged her. A battle of ideals where neither Edelgard or Rhea cared how many people died in the process. Too obsessed with their ideologies to see people as anything but cannon fodder. No one got to decide the greater good but them.

The Agarthans had called themselves the real heroes, high off self righteous ideals when they attacked the Institution; The Heroes Institution calling them villains while turning their back on the safety of the students; both sides throwing around black and white terms like hero and villain while counting their power by how much young blood they spilled or owned. 

Fuck Edelgard. Fuck Rhea, too. The head of the Heroes Institution did so much to disarm the students of her Academy so none of them could be a threat to her authority. Making the most powerful groups of well intending kids swear their loyalty to a book of rules _she_ wrote and never followed. Convincing everybody it was in the name of justice, the greater good, to use their powers responsibly, that her ways of things were so right and just that no one would persecute them for simply being different. But gods forbid you try and ask any questions. Help any poor chump who tried to do things like research the origins of their Institution, because anyone that wasn’t blindly loyal had to keep quiet out of fear. The Institution held ties with every major government in the continent, promising that those ties were for their benefit, that it allowed heroes to exist without extreme measures being taken to reveal their true identities. That the mass of political power was used solely for protecting the heroes and students, guarding their personal information, allowing them to attend the Academy without suspicion and without tabs being formed on them. Shielding whereabouts and identities from the governments themselves.

That’s why Claude had come to Fodlan in the first place. He didn’t have those protections in Almyra. No matter how rich and powerful his father was, it didn’t mean anything for Claude’s safety since his father didn’t actually _care_. Khalid was just another one of his many children. The youngest of them, too, and when favoritism was saved for whoever was the more useful child, it was only handed out to his older siblings who had an advantage of years of competing against Khalid before he was born. 

And his mother- well, she was a different set of neglects Khalid faced. But when the powers Tiana Riegan had failed to inherit from her father fell to him, she set his arrival into Fodlan in motion. He arrived at his grandfather's estate with a name change and full fledged citizenship that he was certain only the rich could achieve with that level of speed and ease. His grandfather was a kind but weak man, a hero far past his prime with only Claude as a living heir to his estate and his powers. His mother refused to step back into Fodlan, and he’d never forget the look of heartbreak on grandpa Riegan’s face when Claude arrived alone, when his mother sent a 14 year old to travel on his own rather than face her own father.

His grandfather’s only son had died two years before Claude had arrived on his doorstep. An uncle Claude never knew he had. One who shared the powers of light that poured from their palms and could be spun and fabricated into shapes that could carry endless momentum and withstand any blow, only limited to the capacity of light and their creativity when using it. Radiance that could warm their bodies and heal any wound.

Claude’s uncle had that power and he had died, the glory of light failing him. Failing his grandpa. He didn’t want it to fail Claude, too. But it hadn’t just been the powers that failed him, but a force beyond the confines of their palms. The Heroes Institution had done something, Rhea had knowingly contributed to his death in some way Claude’s grandpa couldn’t speak of outside of warnings, perhaps afraid she would hear him and take his only grandchild as punishment for speaking against her.

“Not even Rhea knows of your birth name or your birthplace. Keep it that way.” His grandfather had warned Claude, making him get used to the name change early so he wouldn’t slip up when arriving at the Academy in 3 years time. At first, Claude assumed his name was changed for the sake of protecting him against his fathers enemies. Many of his siblings had histories of kidnap attempts and kidnap successes, the discomfort of taking a new name silenced by his young fearful heart with the knowledge not all of those taken had been returned.

To learn the danger Rhea could put him in rivaled the scorn of his fathers enemies was bone chilling. 

That's why Claude had been immune to the splendorous, saintly personality Rhea put forth. He first learned about Rhea in a warning.

He remembered his grandfather's warning with such clarity that it felt tattooed on his brain. Rhea held all the information, all but Claude’s name. It meant that she could contact those government authorities and claim just about anybody to be a “wayward” and a “villain” and had the right to make those calls completely unchecked because it was “the right thing”. Nope. No personal agendas here, not at _The Heroes Institution_ , not _her_ Heroes Institution. Abuse of power?? What! Nooooo, come on! We’re the good guys! We’re so good and heroic, nevermind the fact we wrote the rules that define what good is and “we” is really one person. Rhea didn’t work _for_ the Heroes Institution, she _was_ the Heroes Institution. She took any complaints raised against the Heroes Institution personally, deeming it a threat against everything right with the world and would be treated as such, sanctimoniously without mercy.

It happened more often than anyone was willing to admit. Even choosing of the class leaders was an act of nepotism and personal bias, leaving Claude with such a bitter taste in his mouth. Naturally, he had worked thrice as hard to prove he would’ve been their leader without Rhea’s say in the matter. 

Claude was glad Rhea died in the Collapse of the Heroes Academy. She had died soaring above the Academy with powers she lied about not having, based her “virtue” around not having, locked in battle with Edelgard and the force of the Agarthans behind her. Rhea was the only one who needed to die, but Edelgard decided all that power had to be for herself instead. That no one else could handle it if they weren’t prepared to kill a couple dozen teenagers for it. One dogma replacing another, history seamlessly repeating itself.

Self defense was seen as defiance by Edelgard and the Agarthans she led, who mirrored Rhea’s cruelty without a hint of self awareness. 

None of his classmates were at fault for whatever wrongs the Institution did, and the Agarthans took them fighting for their lives during their sudden ambush as being in compliance with the Institutions wrongs. So they died for it. They didn't know. And they didn't deserve to die for it. 

If they did know, they were too young to do anything about it, too young to put their plans into action. 

Claude was one of those. 

Dimitri- he was one of those. 

Claude shook his head, dropping the pen he had been blankly staring at onto the list of scratched out names. He knew what it felt like to lose his composure and knew that’s what was happening right now. He’d even gone to therapy- as much as a person with so many secrets _could_ go to therapy and disclose their troubles. He was spiraling. He'd gotten lost in thought trying to remember who was still alive and who had died, who he could recruit to his efforts. After that became overwhelming, he tried to turn his focus, obsessing over a name to put to what he was trying to do, what he was _hoping_ to do. Create something new, something better, something that would unify the survivors of the Collapse. He had the backing of his best friend, the richest guy in the city, and the hearts of Fodlan’s citizens that latched on to him, to _V_ _erdant_.

Verdant.

That was him. A name he chose for himself back at the Academy. It was originally meant as a joke. Something corny that stayed in the naming convention for the class he led, because Verdant was yellow like gold but sounded more _mature_ and _graduated_ and _less on the nose._

But then everybody in his class got really excited hearing he came up with his alias and he didn’t have the heart to break it to them. However the more he deliberated on it, the more it reminded him of his connection to the Golden Deer class, and the more he loved it. The pride he felt in being their leader, being _good_ at it, how naturally he stepped into the role. To know he had proven himself with his determination and skills, that he could stand with the best of them as someone they looked to for direction, that his ambitions were taking shape- it felt like a piece of himself slid into place that day. 

He remembered sharing that with Dimitri. The two of them alone in a meeting room after Edelgard left their student leaders meeting. Dimitri told him he felt the same way, looking at Claude with such admiration that meeting his gaze felt like looking into the sun and left his face twice as warm.

Dimitri asked if he had permission to name himself in the same way. How could Claude say no to that? He even helped Dimitri land on a name.

Dimitri was expected to take his fathers old alias, but to be called Azure meant he was recognized for merits of his own, for his dedication to the Blue Lions, to his friends, and no amount of old heroes stuck in the past could make him give it up.

Claude leaned his head in his hands, hoping to uproot the tracks before that train of thought could merge back to his dead friend. But it was too late.

Dimitri. Only son of the late, great Lionheart, a superhero considered the best of the best in the generation of heroes immediately prior to their own. Dimitri. Prom King, fellow class president, captain of the lacrosse team, student boxing instructor and last seen at the Collapse of the Academy. Last seen by Claude, who fought alongside him until the numbers became overwhelming, until the only option was to run or die. 

Dimitri, whose last words were a lie. _“I’ll be okay. I promise.”_

Claude was barely able to look into his scared blue eyes with the amount of blood he'd lost. The sense of responsibility for their classmates had kept Claude and Dimitri behind while the others ran. They were both leaders, both more proficient in their powers, both a cut above the rest without an ounce of cowardice to them. They had to stay back, they had to fight, they had to protect who they could during the evacuation. During the slaughter. 

The Academy and all Rhea’s talk of _doing the right thing_ might’ve been a hypocritical sham, but that didn’t mean everybody’s morals were that fake. Claude was the first to call for the evacuation when the Academy’s staff failed them, when there was no way the tide of battle could turn in their favor. Those within the top rank of the Golden Deer and Blue Lion class put their newly acquired knowledge of heroics to use, saving those still alive.

Lysithea taking head counts through impossible acts of telepathy. Mercedes and Marianne healing the wounded. Felix summoning large planes of metal to shield the students. Hilda channeling her shock waves into pitfalls for super soldiers. Dedue’s impenetrable skin and strength as he carried out the wounded and Annette covering him with telekinetic attacks. Leonie’s aim was sniping any soldier who attempted to stop their rescue mission, carried through the air by Ingrid’s flight and even more combined efforts that Claude would never have enough time to name.

For a minute, everything seemed to be going their way, for a moment Claude believed they could all make it out. When Ashe and his speed had gotten the last wounded student past the gates of the Academy, all that needed to be done was hold off the remaining forces while their friends herded the student body to a safe distance. Then they could fall back, regroup and crush the invading Agarthans. 

That last line of defense was left to Claude and Dimitri alone.

But there were too many soldiers. The two of them were falling too far back, and if any soldiers were able to get past the last gate of the Academy building, they gained a clear shot to the students behind them. 

Claude didn't have the same level of invulnerability that Dimitri did. His powers, the unbreakable golden energy, came in limited quantities and had to be carefully monitored or else the oldest thing he created from it would disappear. While the light he shot from it as arrows offered unlimited ammunition, the intensity of battle had made him lose track. The armor Claude had summoned around himself thinned out and vanished. The protective glow was lost and couldn't be replaced in time to deflect the bullet that tore his femoral artery. 

Dimitri had to carry him and run, covering Claude from any further damage with his own body and distance from the fire. Claude healed himself with golden light and panicked adrenaline, racing against bleeding out from the arterial wound. At that point he couldn’t stand, he couldn’t fight, his fingers were numb and his eyes were trying to shut themselves. They lost all but the last gate to Agarthans advances.

_"Go, please. I’ll be okay. I promise.”_

Ingrid had pulled Claude away with a promise to return for Dimitri, soaring through the smoke filled sky as fast as her breaking limits would allow. 

He was slung over Ingrid’s shoulder, only conscious enough to see how it could never come to be.

Dimitri stood against them alone as a one man army, and as armies often do, made a desperate, irreversible decision. With every drop of his earth shattering might, Dimitri tore down the front of the Academy, the speed and force of its break echoing throughout the rest of the Academy, pillars snapped and floors caved in. The vast underground network became a sinkhole with the sudden force impact of the Academy building being ripped down, taking all that made up the Institution down with it. Collapsing it on the hundreds of Agarthan super soldiers, Dimitri ending the attack once and for all- along his own life. 

The last time the lost generation of heroes had gathered in any capacity was at Dimitri’s funeral. Dimitri's body was never found in the rubble, but even the son of Lionheart could only survive so much.

Seteth, in place of the dead Rhea, officiating his hero's alias.

Azure, in his final act, had graduated from a trainee to a true hero. The time between his birth date and death date only amounted to 18 years, the gravestone displaying that adorned in an impractical blue cape Claude had been teasing Dimitri for a week before. 

Claude almost kissed him that day, too. Pulling on his cape and hovering his lips over Dimitri’s. Dimitri’s hands were calloused and scarred and his fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between Claude's own, his hold so warm and so wanting yet so gentle. It was odd to call Dimitri gentle for all the training equipment he broke, but that's what he was. The strength of atlas in his arms yet holding Claude's hand like it was something more delicate than the world. For the strength of his father was never something Dimitri let stifle the softness of his heart. So self conscious about hurting Claude yet even more afraid to pull away after Claude asked him to stay. Claude couldn't think of a time before where he was held like that, with hands soaked in every drop of kindness the heart could muster. And for him, for Claude.

He was close enough that the blunt ends of Dimitri’s hair brushed his cheek as he leaned down, close enough to see his reflection in Dimitri’s nervous eyes and see how jumpy Claude looked in return. He was so close, but the racing of his heart was a feeling too new and frightening for Claude to see it through. He believed they had all the time in the world to make up for it, and then Dimitri died 5 days later.

Present day but barely present, Claude locked his fingers together. The back of Claude’s hands were cold, and it felt more like a fist than a hold. 

If Dimitri’s corpse was the first hero of their generation, Claude was the second. With a level of determination and focus that escaped Claude now, he took the world by storm. Verdant, the first public hero in nearly a decade. 

It had started with a stand off between the Agarthans and a world's worth of security agencies. After the Collapse, the Agarthans had become inactive, and while Edelgard survived her attack, a large portion of her attack power had not. Speculation arose that Edelgard had not expected the Institution to be destroyed the way it was, that she had instead planned to take it over as her own base of operations and reap the information and connections Rhea had hoarded away within it. Claude took bitter satisfaction in knowing she had not been able to count the Collapse as a victory. 

But they didn’t stay gone.

The Agarthans took diplomats hostage at a treaty discussion meeting, trying to outdo the patience of the most patient people in the world so the Agarthans could write themselves into their negotiation plans. 

The Agarthans were an interesting group, or so Claude had thought before he realized they were a group of entitled chodes. An Empire that existed in Adrestia in ancient times had been discovered about a century ago. The Agartha Empire. The royal family carried that same power giving genes Agarthans did and thus solidifying their ties to Fodlan 1200 years back. They were the first recorded group of people to have ties to superpowers, a rare genetic variant in them that experienced a wider range of superpowers and higher rate of mutation of those powers, the only known bloodline to be notably different than other heroes. They ran so deep that speculations were made that demi-gods in ancient myths were actually Agarthan. They existed as a predecessor of the Institution, a group tied together by the presence of powers amongst them yet not necessarily sworn for heroic acts. But any political power they had died off when the Institution formed 70 years back, now existing only in history books and mythologies that Agarthans claimed all actually belong to them. (Even if they couldn’t fucking prove it in most cases.)

Five years after the Collapse and Agarthan forces were back with demands, a masked man on TV calling the shots and speaking like every word was part of a ransom and a manifesto. Here Claude hoped they’d all died out that day, too. A beautiful late spring day erupted in chaos.

They were trying to bring back the legacy of the Agartha Empire by force, first taking out the Heroes Institution, proclaiming the right to authority over people with superpowers was theirs alone, that the protections the Heroes Institution had that were hidden from public knowledge be transferred to them and people with superpowers not be classified as Hero, Villain or Inactive, but all be under the title of Agarthan. That any person with superpowers immediately be classified as an Agarthan and their citizenship be forfeited over to the Agartha leadership to do with as they see fit.

Super soldiers kept the best defense agencies the involved countries had to offer at bay. The same kind that had been at the Collapse of the Academy. What would have been solved in a day two decades prior by their heroic predecessors took two weeks. 

That's how long Hilda had been able to talk him out of it. That’s how long Claude was able to stomach their grab for power and being called a fucking Adestrian.

"I know that look, don’t you think about it.” She warned, trying to force herself not to look at the news coverage on his tv. Claude couldn’t look away. 

“It’s so close to us.” He said, restless hands spinning the remote on his palm. 

“That’s more reason to not do it. Look, see? Military’s already being called in. It’ll be settled before you can find your shoes. Just leave it alone, Claude.”

But it hadn’t been settled. One day had passed and then two, and then after a week, Claude had given himself an ultimatum.

He had one more week before he would step in, one week for the incident to solve itself. One week to prepare. Claude made an effort to keep his mind and body sharp after the Collapse, including maintaining his proficiency with his powers- but he hadn’t seen action since that day, either. Not to any scale outside of stopping assaults and street fights he happened upon. And if the Academy taught him anything, it was that the reality of the fight was always going to be different than the conception of it. While it was impossible to be 100% ready for anything, the right dedication would raise his odds significantly.

Claude threw himself fully into preparation, fixating on every detail like he was going to war.

During that week he would train vigorously, intensely to shake all the rust off his moves. He would remember what tips his deceased grandpa told him about that power they shared, make an assessment of his physical status, target practice everyday, every night. If there was any chance he couldn’t rely on his combative skills to carry him through this, then he had to concede. Each day was a new run down of things he had mastered. He trained with his tangible bow first- a recurve bow, not crossbow or compound. Three arrows in one and a half seconds, one in each gap between his fingers, making a bullseye of varying distances. But it didn’t stop there. Nine arrows all together, each set of arrows splitting the one before them. Timed, all under five seconds, and that was barely his warm up. 

Run through the obstacle course his grandfather set up years ago when in his prime. Real bows, real arrows, a handicap he didn't have to worry about in real battle but one he had to train with to keep sharp. If he depended too much on his powers, he would get sloppy. He couldn’t make that mistake twice. He practiced on many targets, from many distances, with some being like targets but with the bullseye in blue- indicating a civilian not to be shot at. 

Claude ran through his combat training with his gymnast routine, through leaps and flips and spins that would’ve disoriented onlookers if they tried to keep track of him, and he was in the center of it. He challenged himself to shoot all targets while midfall, making his shots before he hit the ground in a safe landing, then challenging himself to make it through the 100 meter dash from his landing point, a new set of targets to be hit, strictly timed. Then when that didn’t feel like enough, he challenged himself to stay midair through gymnast rings hung in the ceiling. He set targets in motion with his powers, setting them in movement cycles and patterns with great speeds and sudden changes. Injuries and exhaustion would be healed along the way.

Then he did it all again, and again, and _again_ until he finally allowed himself the use of his powers. Dripping in sweat and determination, he summoned his golden bow in his hand, the arrows from his fingertips. His bow radiant like the crescent moon and arrows like the shooting stars that would fall behind it. It was still the most beautiful thing Claude had ever seen, no matter how many times he summoned it, how many times he stared at it, how many arrows he fired from it, the amazement never left his eyes. This bow worked with Claude like a part of himself that went deeper than his soul. He ran through his self perpetuated challenges like a breeze, adrenaline and light singing in his ears.

A thousand arrows were fired over the course of his training and not a single one was in vain. Physically, he was ready. But physicality wasn’t going to be enough.

Claude had to make a plan. He had to investigate the incident in detail. Study the buildings floor planning, make estimations of how many Agarthans were there and how he’d get the diplomats out unharmed. Going in arrows blazing wasn’t going to be an option. This was a hostage situation, they would just pull the hostages out and start threatening them- maybe kill a few- to get Claude in line. He would have to sneak them out before anything, come up with a plan to take away the Agarthans' leverage. 

Claude had one advantage that nobody else did. His grandfather was the one who designed and funded the construction of the building the Agarthans had taken over. A dome building in the heart of Derdriu, famed for its view of the ocean and sky and how it’s design allowed natural light to flood through each room. The blueprints were in his old office, and while the blueprints were in city records for necessary reasons, Claude had access to design notes and journals taken during the construction that no one else did. Notes that told Claude of how his grandfather had been so proud of the construction of the building that he literally started glowing with pride, how the colors of the sunrise had dispersed through the glass panes in such a way that blended in perfectly with his aura. Musings on how anybody there could’ve been glowing like him and he would’ve never noticed. The sunrise there was special because of it.

That would be Claude’s camouflage and his window of opportunity. The sunrise.

Blackops had already tried to retrieve the diplomats and were promptly killed before they could make it to their chosen back door. But they had been many people, and Claude was just one person. He had that advantage in stealth, the ability to move and fire silently- his disadvantage came in the fact his powers glowed. At night, he would stick out like a glowstick in a haunted house. It had to be by day. 

He had the how and then when, now he had to get the where. The point of entry. The roads were blocked off, streets completely backed up with numerous government agencies forced to work together and try to scope out any weak points surrounding the buildings. He was able to get footage of the building through a news casters drone- and there was something that caught his eye, but not in the way one would think.

It was on the eastern side of the building. An open sewer grate for a city so close to the water smelled like death, and it was wash up season, so a lot of dead things from the sea were ending up on that shore. There was a balcony built there with the exact purpose of watching the sunrise. There was the slightest movement from those standing guard, their masks likely covering a putrid expression. He could tell they were eager to leave- so they'd already been thrown off and distracted upon Claude's arrival. The sunrise from the ocean colored the water and the city in brilliant hues, the luminous glass covering Claude’s movements.

Claude entered in through that balcony. The military had already put a radio wave buffer that stopped communication devices from working inside the building on the first day, making anything but in person checks impossible for the Agarthans to do, giving him the advantage of not worrying about suspicious radio wave silence. He killed the eastern dome’s door guards, starting high then dropping to the guards below. Those two he had been distracting with a big popped bubble of liquid garbage that seemed naturally forming enough to not be suspicious at the time. But he didn’t like remembering that part. It was disgusting. 

After that entrance was freed, he propelled back to the balcony with a grappling hook made of golden thread that materialized from his hands. Claude locating the surveillance drones the government organizations had circled around. He’d gotten their attention.

_I’m going to get them._ He had signed to the drone, praying one of the chumps watching him knew sign language. _Eight diplomats, will be at this ledge. Don’t rush. Prepare to collect at the seashore. Shattered dome. Large yellow disc is go sign, wait 30 seconds after that. Have to go now._

The light within the dome building was nothing short of lustros. The news had shown the hostages in the Agarthans demands video in the meeting room, a wall of bullet proof glass that kept the room bright behind them. He memorized the path through the floor plans and ran through the directions dozens of times. Claude clung to high corners of hallways by the light of his finger tips, watching the Agarthan soldiers squint through the sunrise’s light while patrolling. 

15 Agarthan soldiers dropped in 10 seconds, firing arrows through their skulls one by one, too fast for them to notice the others drop. He ran through their forces as wind blew through trees. The eastern wing was clear. They never stood a chance.

One arrow through two sets of temples took out the Agarthans standing guard at the meeting room.

“Hey there!” Claude- uh, Verdant said, getting a couple of screams from the jumpy diplomats. He couldn’t really blame them, he was sure they’d gotten enough of masked individuals barging in. “I know this is all very sudden but there is no time to explain-”

“Who are you!” One of the diplomats- some guy who looked like he could be Lorenz’s cousin, shouted and pointed a pen at him like a knife. 

“Long story, short answer. I’m the guy who's getting you out of here alive, now hurry, come on, pens to yourself.” Verdant tried to step forward, but this jumpy eggplant colored schmuck took another stab at him. “Oh my gods, enough!” He took the pen and snapped it in half. The Gloucester man scampered back, hiding in the huddled group of diplomats behind someone Claude recognized. 

Rahim. One of the oldest of his half siblings. 12 years of age separated the two of them in more than just time on the earth, but also in their level of security within the estate they grew up in. There was something he remembered Rahim for despite their interactions as siblings being so few. 

The fact he was a good man. Being brothers born from the father they shared meant steep competition, and those only a few years older than Khalid often made him the scapegoat of their anger toward their fathers neglect. Most of his siblings in better positions were moved out, or, when they did swing by, would take to ignoring Khalid when he was in distress, even if he was screaming for help. But not Rahim, who let Khalid hide behind him and sent him off patched up with a new book to read. It made sense someone so grounded and diplomatic would _become_ a diplomat.

Claude knew he was here, of course he did, he knew the names of all the politicians here, and the anxiety of being recognized crossed his mind when he learned his half brother was there. But that was ridiculous, Claude hadn’t seen any of his siblings in a decade and had fully gone through puberty since their last encounter. There was no way Rahim would be able to tell who he was after all that and a hero's costume shrouding his identity.

But the light of recognition crossing his half brother's eyes told him differently. Diplomats were smart, what a crazy idea. 

“Are you one of Fodlans heroes?” Rahim asked. If he was talking to the masked figure in the doorway or his little brother, Claude couldn’t tell. “I’ve heard the stories, but they’ve been gone for many years now.” 

He hadn’t been surprised by the question. What surprised Claude was his answer.

“Well they’re back. At least I am. Now come on, we need to go.” Verdant ushered. Rahim steeled his expression and nodded.

“We need to go. The men at the door are dead, this will be our only shot.” Rahim said to the diplomats who had been silently debating with themselves and each other the trustworthiness of Claude’s claim. It was all they needed.

Rufus- Dimitri’s uncle, adoptive brother of Lionheart, was there as well. He didn’t know who Claude was exactly, but they had attended the same funeral once five years ago and had a life surrounded by people with superpowers. He had no reason to not follow a hero.

“You heard the guy, lets go! Shake a leg! Up and attem!” Rufus said and- yeah Dimitri had always said his uncle was kinda lame. But he was the first to cross that distance between the scrunched up group of diplomats and the door. He ran out after Rufus, making sure they were still covered for the short distance between the balcony and the meeting room.

“You know the way to the sunrise balcony, yeah?” Verdant asked. 

“You’re not leaving us to go alone, are you?” Rahim asked.

“Trust me on this. I’ll be back in a second, just duck behind the railing and don't try to jump.” Verdant said. 

“I know the way, lets go!” A woman with the scrutinizing eyes of an Ordelia took the lead.

Claude had to trust she did when he took off to the center of the dome. He was in a blind spot, they all were, but it wouldn’t last long.

So, he had to divert all their attention the other way. 

Standing at the inside of the dome, just behind a line of visibility from the floor below, he drew his bow. It was bulletproof, but he had something stronger than bullets. A cluster of arrows sat in his fist, all drawn from light, pointed at the western glass of the dome. He shot it without a sound, sunlight bleeding into his arrows as the netted impact of his shot landed- and the glass shattered, the western third of the dome raining down at the Agarthans raised the alarm, taking aim in the wrong direction.

He sprinted back to the eatern balcony in their panic, all of them swarming to whatever intruders they thought were coming in the opposite way. Perfect, fucking genius, they could all get out and Verdant would bounce while the small army that was waiting to take down the Agarthans rushed them. He would be lost in the confusion and everyone would be okay. 

And it was all going so well, until that exit point of the balcony only held seven people upon Verdant’s arrival.

“You’re kidding me.” Claude said, 

“We couldn’t stop him.” Said a woman from Duscur, the irritation in her brow close to out doing Verdant’s own. “Rufus. He broke to go for a different exit. Perhaps foolish enough to make a wrong turn. He’s still back there.” She said, looking past Claude. 

Claude frowned. He couldn’t afford to cut any losses.

“Alright. I’ll go back for him. But first,” Claude raised his hands, wisps of light forming from them as he chopped down through the back of the balcony, a large golden disc separating the balcony from the building, getting under it to soften the impact as it crashed into the ground below. His plan of getting them to the sea in under a minute was a trick Claude liked a lot. A thin flash of light over them to protect from projectiles and a gathering of light at Claude’s foot- he wouldn’t be able to use any more light until they were at a safe distance, but this was the best way. “Your rescue team will be waiting at the sea!”

“Wait!” Rahim said, rising to his feet. For a terrifying second, Claude believed he was going to be called out by name, by his most hidden secret. “What is your name, brave stranger?”

“Call me Verdant.” He said, grasping his brother by the shoulder in a moment of understanding- and to shove him back down. “And you really shouldn’t try standing for this next part. Sorry if this ends up in the water!” The ground offered no resistance to the disc as he kicked it, launching it toward the sea with velocity that took traction drag as a suggestion. The light, when in contact with itself, could be launched with incredible speed and force. He learned that when he learned to travel across long distances with two layers of the light at his feet, he then evolved it into this move for transporting civilians. And this move in particular made Claude look a lot stronger than he was, which was nice. 

They were kicked off into the ocean like a skipping stone, the screams fading as they went further, a large SPLASH signifying their arrival to their destination. 

So maybe he overshot. He was in a hurry.

Claude summoned all the light back to him, leaping back into the balcony-less door sticking out the side of a pac man shaped mostly-dome. He had to go find Rufus. When he blinked, brief flashes of a boy in blue with a soft heart crossed his vision, reigniting his rescue efforts. 

His mind was racing as Claude came up to the railing of the dome. Rufus stood at the center of it with a gun to his head, Agarthans circling around and pointing their weapons up at Claude. Two snuck up behind Claude, grabbing him and pinning him to the rail. 

“Shit-!”

“Silence!” The Agarthan spat back at him, this person’s mask and uniform more heavy on the accessories- clearly the commander of this mission, though they were way too tall to be Edelgard herself. 40 guns cocked at Claude, and while it couldn't do anything against his light force armor, the 41st gun pointed at Rufus was the real concern. “Bring him down here at once!”

This wasn’t good. A news helicopter far in the distance took the gap of the dome to view inside- he knew they were going to make an example out of him. That’s how these people worked. In cruel gestures and displays of strength. He could get out of the hold these two had on him, could probably take down the rest of the Agarthans too if he put some sweat to it- but with Rufus at the center of it all, they’d just kill him instead. Spin a tale about the futility of heroes. The only living reminder of Lionheart, the once symbol of heroism, dead in a sloppy hero’s mission gone wrong. Reinstate everyone's helplessness. If he got close enough, maybe he could change this for the better before Claude himself got his identity exposed and executed on live TV.

He looked up through the gape of the dome once more, when an Agarthan grabbed his hood to yank Claude back and force him down the stairs.

Pondering if the commander holding Rufus hostage had superpowers was when he saw it. That’s when he saw _her_ , the blur of bubblegum pink leaping from a rooftop above, speeding toward the dome like a comet. Hilda had lied about throwing away her old costume. 

She landed fist first, right into the back of the man taking Rufus hostage and then _through_ him, her shockwave cracking the ground like the epicenter of an earthquake. The remainder of the domes glass shattered and rained down with a loud crack.

“Hey, you made it!” Claude cheered, shaking the two Agarthans off of him as everyone else in and around the building lost balance. 

“Yeah, DUH! You’re hopeless!” She shouted back at him, breaking the ground until it was so jagged that the majority of the artillery fell into the cracks. 

The building cracking and stairs splitting, he carefully kept his balance as he launched the two Agarthans making another grab for him down over the railing. Claude leapt off it before the railing fell from the edge, glass bouncing off him as he landed next to Hilda. 

“You’re the best, you know that? Like I could kiss you right now.” He said, but priorities first. He covered Rufus in a force field, protecting him from the shower of glass or any clever footed Agarthan trying to regain their hostage.

“How about you buy me some new shoes instead.” Hilda said, letting up on the kinetic assault on the ground.

Now it was Claude and Hilda, facing back to back as the rumbling subsided and the Agarthans stood to fight, readying their advance on the duo.

“How many?” Hilda asked, shoulders squared and fists drawn tight.

“41.” He looked down at the pulverized leader with the indent of Hilda’s fist in his spine. “Make that an even 40. Hey, you still remember our cheer routine, right?” Claude asked, tossing a glance back at Hilda.

“Ugh. You always dragged me to practice, how could I forget.”

“Great!” The first of the remaining guns cocked, signaling the end of their talk. The Agarthans were no strangers to combat, focus tightening as they got ready to dogpile the heroes who blew their plan out of the water. 

Hilda grabbed Claude by his shoulder, the two nodding in understanding. He turned, planting a foot on Hilda’s joined hands and she launched Claude in the air with a shout. He was thrown way up into the space where the dome once was, summoning his bow as he soared up. He rained arrows down three at a time, aiming for the Agarthans in the formation that held guns. Some rose their arms to cover from Claude’s fire, but his aim had been the weapons in their hands. The metal split and destroyed, some had the artillery pinned through their hands and some dropping it all together if they were smart. Second pull, at the crest of his ascent, spinning with his feet in the air to keep with the momentum, center mass of the mobbing soldiers. Third pull. His descent was aiming for those who would be too close for comfort at his landing place.

His flying figure was a great distraction, too. Hilda came in just as hot as her landing, delivering single decisive blows to each who had been too distracted in the raining light to remember there were two heros now. 

They were down a third by the time Claude landed, but now the element of surprise had worn off. It was a good old fashioned brawl. None of the Agarthans had defined superpowers but that didn’t mean they were weak, the super soldiers were that exactly, soldiers that could take and deal more hits than an average human.

Hilda built them up and knocked them down, letting them cluster to attack and then blowing the ground out from under them. A combination of strength and added agility for her small size made her impossible to pin down, letting some punches land just so she could grab their arms and run a shockwave through them, shattering the bones beyond use and leaving the writhing soldiers collapsed on the ground to trip the others up.

One tried to pick Hilda up from behind, which was kind of hilarious if it wasn’t so stupid. Hilda’s core strength was nothing to be trifled with and she used that to launch herself back into the skull of the Agarthan. She bashed the back of her head into their masks, cracking it into the assailants face. The force of her powers radiating from her arms broke her out of the hold, grabbing the giant Agarthan by their stupid red black and white uniform and tossing them into the oncoming group of soldiers who crowded in for a free blow at her. Hilda put her palm over the pile of soldiers, releasing a shockwave that blew out their eardrums and left them unable to stand back up. 

Claude had come into contact with an attack as soon as he touched ground, the fight too close for him to use his arrows. So he used his bow, blocking incoming hits with the indestructible phantom bow that he clutched in his hand. He used an arrow as a dagger to stab into the forearm of someone that grappled at his wrist, then ripping it out and fired it at another who salvaged a gun from the floor to aim at Hilda.

“Thanks, hun! On your five!”

“Any time!” Claude spun on his heel and kicked the Agarthan coming up behind him in the jaw, planting that foot on their shoulder to pull himself up into the air, leaping off their head to gain distance. He struck that soldier in the back, spraying arrows into those that had been crowding Claude. But there were still more standing. He landed hard on the uneven ground and kept chase, herding Agarthans that tried to grab him into one concentrated group. He spotted Hilda, making a deadsprint for her as the last of her assailants fell. Their eyes locked, a look of acknowledgment passing between them for what would be their finishing move. 

She knelt low, Claude jumping clear over her and leaving a forcefield in his wake, it all happening too fast for the group chasing him to not slam into it. Hilda put her hands flat against the shimmering shield and released a full force wave of kinetic energy, the eruption traveling through all those that were making any sort of contact with the forcefield. Running through them like electricity through a circuit, the Agarthans piled into it shook violently. Cracking bones, teeth, fingers, cartilage- Claude was sure it hurt, but the bullets and powers the Agarthans had used to kill his friends did, too. He found himself unable to pity them. If they were dead, they were dead. If they were alive, they’d be interrogated.

Claude rose to look over the room. Of the 42 that had started the fight, only himself and Hilda stood. They stood, heavy of breath as they looked over what had once been a fleet of dangerous, superhuman soldiers that had taken the heart of Derdriu into a fist, wringing it until it either surrendered or fainted. Now their plan was completely undone. Rufus sat under a forcefield, safe just like the rest of the diplomats. 

The sun rose overhead, changing the sky from yellows to blue. Fifteen minutes. Claude had a window of fifteen minutes from the sun's first appearance over the horizon to right now, where the sky no longer bled colors that Claude could move through unseen. This entire thing, down to the fall of the last Agarthan goon, had only been 15 minutes. He looked up at the perfect clear sky, washed of the blessing it had offered, that he no longer needed for the job was done. It was over. 

A helicopter broke his line of sight from the sky. The long pause of inaction must’ve signaled to the newscaster inside that it was safe to come in close. 

“Look at that. We’re on TV.” Claude said, an airy laugh passing his exhausted smile as he saluted the camera with the first two fingers of his hand, his pinky and ring fingers still curled as if he would be holding extra arrows in them.

“We are super on TV. And as much as I love how my hair looks today, we gotta go.” Hilda said, speed walking over to Claude. He dropped the forcefield around Rufus, Hilda scooping him up by the back of his suit jacket to drag him out.

“Who _are_ you people?” Rufus asked, confused and- well probably a little traumatized now but Claude couldn’t really help that part.

“Didn’t you hear me earlier? We’re heroes.” Claude said, walking to the front doors of the building, busting the padlocks off with the edge of his bow, letting it fade from his hands now that he had no use to be holding on to it. The doors swung open and the cheers were like nothing he ever heard. The steps leading to the building were barely blocked off from a massive, screaming crowd.

Faerghus agents swept in within the second to take Rufus from them, their commander pausing to give Claude that archer finger salute he’d just done for the cameras. 

The streets of Derdriu were flooded with people, pressing right up to the stairs of the diplomat building where a varying group of officers had stood as a barricade for spectators and media people. Claude didn't think such a crowd could be drawn in only the span of 15 minutes. But he knew Fodlan, and he knew once the suggestion of Fodlans tradition of heroes being resparked had made its way to the news, they'd all rushed in to see for themselves. And he could tell by the way their deafening cheers hadn't stopped that they hadn't expected these new heroes to win. 

But if people loved anything, it was a good underdog.

And the coverage was mind-boggling. He saw cameras of reporters that had wrestled their way to the front, microphones jutting out past the fences and officers arms, held by the nosey arms of news anchors. 

"We gotta get out of here." Hilda said, scoping out the area. "Like, now." And she was right- about one thing. They had to act _now_ to solidify their image within the public eye. If they stood around too long they might be flooded by local police as vigilantes- but if they left now, then the questions remaining in their wake would be left for someone else to answer, possibly the Agarthans and if their PR team got to it first. They'd lose control of the narrative.

Claude had spent so long keeping his head down. He wasn't going to let anyone else color their victory here in their own agenda. The Agarthans, they made a big deal about seeming in the right to color their violence and grab for power into something righteous. 

Rhea had done the same. That's something he had to consider- that Seteth or someone else might resurface and claim Claude's accomplishment here in the name of the fallen Heroes Institution, throwing power and support right back into the hands of whatever new person sat at the top of their power vacuum. He would lose his agency to them again.

Claude wouldn't let his ambitions be stomped out by people who only valued their unproven ideals and trampled as many lives necessary to see it put in place as the authority. He had done this for his friends, for the people they lost, for the people they didn't have to lose anymore and the aggressors he refused to bend to one way or another. 

More than anything, he believed in the good people wanted to do. He wouldn't let that be manipulated and misused anymore. That was the belief that carried him down the first step.

Hilda, for all the superficial fussing she did, didn't try to stop him. She fell back to his side in silent support as he descended toward the crowd, the sense of purpose radiating off of Claude like his glowing powers would. His aloof air had dropped and only she was close enough to see it, to peak at the unmoving core that was Claude’s beliefs and ambitions, one he always kept carefully disguised for any threat that might befall all he held dear and believed in.

Whatever Claude was doing, wherever he was going, she would trust him, Hilda decided. And she would follow him.

Claude walked down the steps with his head held high, a presence that the air around him could barely contain. Something in him that had atrophied in those five years finally sparked again, flushed with new life and the confidence to see it through. 

Verdant grabbed the first mic he could. The world fell silent.

"I am not an Agarthan and I refuse to be lumped in with them!” He declared, making himself their official opposition. “And I refuse to be claimed by the people who killed so many of my friends, slaughtered those who you call the lost generation of heroes! Well just as many of us survived! And I believe with every part of me that we don’t need a defunct Institution to tell us to fight for what’s right!

“For a group of people once so determined to do the right thing, they have long been gripped by fear and trauma and apathy. Intimidated by the very same people who had nearly killed all of us five years ago. And as those who survived breathe, the Agarthans still succeeded, because now heroes are dead to the world. Not anymore!”

He rose a glowing hand to the sky, reaching for the dawn, putting all his powers into that single point, bleeding light in hopes his beacon could reach those he had lost. 

“I am Verdant, and I call for the resurrection of the Lost Generation of Heroes!" 

The roar of the city as it called back for Claude’s declaration was rapturous. They didn’t die down after the light flash Claude used to cover his and Hilda’s escape faded, cheers ringing throughout the city long after they were gone. 

It’d been a week since and the news coverage still hadn’t died down. The playback of videos containing Claude’s impromptu speech and glimpses of their fight had entered tens of millions. Buzzing of conspiracy theories and people trying to pick apart what Claude had said about the Agarthans and their murder of the lost generation of heroes were everywhere. Theories ranging from wildly inaccurate timelines to some pretty good guesses about what happened to the Heroes Institution. There were a handful of poor guesses made about their identities, Claude getting a laugh when a few clout chasing internet influencers tried to claim their identity and had to release apology videos instantly afterward. 

As entertaining as it was, he tried to not watch too many of those. He'd leave the online gossip to Hilda. Claude had a much more important task at hand, the task of following up with his public stunt. 

Claude had made himself a public enemy to the Agarthans and an ally to the public who had been intimidated by their sudden, all consuming presence. But it was only himself and Hilda, and if the Agarthans had already planned on coming out of the shadows, he had to be prepared to be a target. Claude needed people on his side, too.

There was no time to waste and so he wasted no time. He had to start tracking heroes down if he really wanted this resurrection to be more than just a media cycle, knowing that as excited Fodlan was to hear that Heroes were back in any capacity, the two of them weren't nearly enough. 

Especially because he didn’t know what the Agarthans- what Edelgard would do in response.

But to bring a bunch of 20-somethings with superpowers, scattered across the globe out of hiding was easier said than done.

"You’re amazing with the press." Sylvain said as he took up Claude's recruitment offer, mashing on an unresponsive elevator button. Claude had disguised himself as an intern and cornered the young CEO in a force stopped elevator. He could recognize a call to action when it came around, Sylvain had said facetiously. Shadows rose like smoke from his hand and into the control panel. He overrode Claude's own superpower with knowledge of technological operation. The light Claude could produce and manipulate was immensely more powerful than any shadows Sylvain could whip around, having sliced through them with ease back in the Academy's days of combat training, but Claude’s powers weren’t doing anything to the elevator that couldn't be worked around by someone with the right know-how. 

Sylvain Gautier. A stupidly rich former classmate. With the power to summon a dark steed from the shadows, move through them in the right conditions, and morph shadows to his creation. Sylvain’s powers were like Claude’s own in that way, but Sylvain’s knowledge skewed toward mechanical uses and the amount of shadows he could produce was a vastly greater quantity than Claude’s light. The vast amount of knowledge he accumulated to properly utilize his power only made him more powerful _and_ a better businessman. Sylvain’s financial and political security made him one of the few survivors who didn't disappear from the face of existence after the Academy collapsed. So when he started on his ambitions to form a new league reconnecting the lost heroes, Sylvain was the easiest to find- other than Hilda who didn't count because she was Claude’s best friend. 

Gautier money was also insane enough to make Claude believe this ambition wasn't a pipe dream. Claude was rich, what with the big shot grandpa and the inheritance following his death, but not _that_ rich. Sylvain might be able to rival Claude’s father in wealth one day, that’s the type of rich he was. With a casual display of his riches, Sylvain invited him and Hilda to stay at one of his properties in Fhirdiad while they all figured out their next move. A nice penthouse high in the sky Claude had barely left, save for tonight.

There were three of them. Him, Hilda, and Sylvain. The founders of a new organization of heroes. 

And here was their leader! Claude. Verdant. Figuring out that next move. Except he wasn’t, he was dissociating in a shitty Café, staring unfocused at a list of rejected titles for a new heroes organization illuminated by tacky Edison lights. Unable to come up with that catchy name business minded Sylvain told him to figure out. It's what he had turned to after burning himself out on his first task, of coming up with leads from the information already present in his mind.

The first page of his notebook had a list of names that was longer than Claude first realized, some with an X next to their names to mark the deceased. Unable to forget the names of former classmates- alive or dead. 

Pages upon pages were filled with the beginnings of leads, writing down what he remembered, where he last saw them, and what to do if confronting them. He had such a good momentum going that it felt wrong to stop.

Claude was two pages into a lead before remembering the person he’d been writing about was dead, the sudden realization opening like a trap door under him. It brought him back to that day of the Collapse, where he watched one of his golden deer die in Marianne's arms, the injuries too great to come back from. 

Claude was swept up in the tide of memories after that, unable to escape the currents of trauma they all shared as the last class of the Heroes Academy. It was late and hard to think and Claude scolding himself for this rut that rendered him useless. He would pack those memories up soon, like he always did. He would put them into boxes and stack them in the back of his mind, hoping they’d never cave in on him but knowing he would inevitably be crawling out from under them again. He would stand up and leave and continue with his life, with his plans, untethered by the weight of his grief. Or at least he would pretend to be, he’d let others believe it as true. The sun would rise and his life would unfold like a map and Claude would draw their roads and mark the trails he blazed for others to follow. And he would do that all. Soon. 

Right now, Claude was too busy losing himself in bad memories like the traumatized 23 year old he was. 


	3. Walls, masks, and murals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda and Sylvain have a surprise in store for Claude, however they need to keep Claude from working himself to death beforehand, prompting a night out in Fhirdiad to help him unwind. Levels of success will vary...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! There won't be a lot of action in this one, but I wanted some introspection of characters already in play.   
> (I'm also peddling my non-binary Claude agenda shhh) This is mostly about them being friends and trying to be friends while not completely knowing how to.  
> I also mention politics and things like academia and i tried to be as accurate as possible, but I'm not an expert, so im sorry in advance if things are off to people with more knowledge in those things.   
> This was originally a far longer chapter but everything I wanted to write put it well over 10k words, so I'm splitting it into two. However, the next chapter will be up soon because of this!   
> And that's about it! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Sylvain makes a joke about cocaine and there's talk of death and corruption typical of the last chapters themes.

"Claude looks awful." Sylvain said as he entered the penthouse’s kitchen, locking concerned looks with Hilda.

"I know. I mean fuck you for saying that, but you're right." She said, stirring a metal straw around some vivid green smoothie she stocked the kitchen up with. "I don't think he's been sleeping." She looked to the door that would lead to where Claude was, sat in some lofty couch skimming through a heavily annotated book of law. She knew this hero gig would be a lot of work and complained about it accordingly. Yet she hadn't been doing any of the work. Save for knocking a few heads at the start- but that was the easy part. It was every other tedious task that she dreaded.

But she hadn't been doing those. Claude had. Like. All of them. 

"I'm a bad teammate." Hilda said, sighing through her nose. She was so avoidant of responsibility and the inevitable risk of disappointment that she had become unreliable, completely skipping the work part and straight to the disappointment. Except Claude never gave her the chance to fail or succeed at anything, and he never set an expectation for her to fail. So she was just sitting around being useless, just as free of responsibility as she always insisted on being. She waited for the push that never came, and the only person to blame for that was herself, so that’s exactly who she was disappointed in. Herself. Bad hero. Bad friend. But a bad teammate was easier to say. 

"Hey. Hilda. I'm part of this, too. _We’re_ bad teammates." Sylvain said, getting a sad but humored smile from her. He knew what it meant. Bad hero. Bad friend. "He really scraped the bottom of the barrel with us." 

It was no exaggeration to say Claude had been doing all the work and more. He was locked work mode for weeks, ever since the rescuing of the diplomates in the Dawn Dome. Sylvain and Hilda were real one foot in one foot out types, or so they tried they said. The facades of disinterest made interacting with the world easier as two people burdened with expectations since birth. Claude knew that, knew to play their game and dance around the right words to get them to do things. All without breaking their illusion of nonexistent dedication. Claude typically wasn’t shy about asking for their involvement when he needed it, and they had come to rely on that. A wordless understanding of what parts to pull and what roles to fill, flying solo wasn’t like him because he knew objectively how impossible a task working alone was.

But maybe the act was too convincing. Or maybe Claude was really struggling. Maybe both. 

Hilda looked off, anywhere but making eye contact with someone she shared the same shames with. The air between them was a thick, somber fog, unable to see past their own inadequacy as it hung.

"Swiped one of his notebooks." Sylvain said, flipping through a spiral notebook dense with ink and information, the pages of many identical notebooks bearing the bones that would structure a new hero organization. The framework continued in other journals, laptops and flash drives and sticky notes. The anatomy of a new era. The notebooks were full of just that, notes, things Claude would shape into bricks for the foundation he would rebuild. An organization meant to cradle the scattered lost generation of heroes, pouring from Claude's mind with nothing big enough to contain it all. It spilled over the sides and drained Claude with it. He wrote like he couldn't get it out of him fast enough, like those sleepless nights and empty pens could make up for lost time and lost lives. 

One day, the efforts of Claude’s ambitions would rise as something great. It would usher in a new age of heroes and people who fought and protected the world in a meaningful way, and all this struggle would be worth it. But they didn’t know that yet. What they did know was that in order to not repeat the mistakes of the predecessors, one was meant to learn everything they knew and then more, so as to not go wrong the way they did. Sylvain understood this. He understood it years before his father died. Now he lived that reality, filling the role of the head of the Gautier fortune that his father had always intended him to be. He knew how all consuming a task it was, to do better than the best of what came before you, and how it felt to learn the best wasn’t actually that great. He was certain Claude realized that, for Claude was burning himself at every end to try and illuminate the world of possibilities. Catching glimpses of a better future like lightning strikes or passing street lamps, trying to view every path ahead and behind. Claude was a flair signal still burning, blazing in compensation for the five years of inactivity. Trying to burn out the guilt with endless labor.

But if there was anybody that felt guilt, it was Hilda as Claude's best friend, and Sylvain as an old one. Claude had saved both their lives during the collapse and aided them many times before that. Dimitri had, too. The two of them were titans of the once proud Academy, a duo that was unstoppable and, if you were close enough to catch the glimpses of their discreet closeness, inseparable. Now Dimitri was dead and Claude was working himself into the grave after him. 

Hilda thumbed through the journal with pride and shame. Proud to be a part of it and ashamed she wasn't doing more. She saw the scratched out names of old friends. Lost connections and bridges that had crumbled after the world caved in on itself. She saw names that were signed in her yearbook- somewhere in the rubble along with the people whose signatures they belonged to. She had lost so many people in one way or another, but she always thought Claude had been spared from becoming one of those losses. But there was a distance that would never be crossed, a wall that she stood on the other side of, and she never pressed, because there were some walls that bore the load of things that were too hard to share. She wondered if things would be different if she had not let Claude pull away. 

"I'm starting to think he like, actually believes I'll up and leave him like this." Hilda confessed, her familiarity to Claude spelled out in the way she could tell he switches from writing with his right hand to his left around half way through the notebook. "I knew as soon as he saw the news he was going to go and get himself involved with those Agarthans. I told him not to even though there’s no stopping the guy, he’s hopeless like that, he can’t leave well enough alone. Thought it would at least make him wait a bit before bugging me about it again, but... But he left without me." She said, running acrylic nails down the spiral spine of the notebook. Sylvain couldn't offer comforting words because he didn't know how to, so he gave her company in that sadness. 

"Getting left behind. I know how that feels." He divulged an ounce of the pain he carried, but nothing more than that. His token of sympathy to Hilda. He leaned back against the wall of the kitchen, neither looking at the other. The silence returned. The guilt- it never left, but it felt stronger when they couldn't fill the silence. That's how they lived the last five years. 

Sylvain wondered how Felix was doing. When his phone buzzed, Sylvain was almost able to trick himself into believing that was him.

"Hello?" Sylvain answered. Hilda staring at him out of boredom and wanting to think about anything but her own shortcomings. She decided that Sylvain either heard some really good news or finally snapped under the depressing atmosphere when his face lit up. "Hey! Oh- wow. I didn't expect to actually hear back from you." He said, shifting on his feet with renewed energy. Hilda thought maybe she was intruding on a long con booty call until Sylvain waved her over with left field enthusiasm, holding the phone out for her to listen to the voice on the other end. 

"Good. You shouldn't expect more than the contracted work from your employees. But this is different!" The pitchy, commanding voice of Lysithea proclaimed from the other end. Hilda's jaw dropped. Was this really her? She looked at Sylvain's excited nods, confirming yes, this was real. He bent down so Hilda could press her ear right up to the back of the phone. 

"Does this mean you'll come and join us as a hero?" Sylvain asked. Please say yes.

“It means there’s going to be a long talk with Claude before the final decision. But as long as he isn’t completely incompetnent, I can't see why I'd change my mind." Lysithea said, her long winded way of saying yes without outright saying yes, like she was going to sign a lease or something.

"That's good enough for me!" Sylvain said it like a cheer. Hilda couldn't take it anymore. She snatched the phone from his hand, cupping it to her ear.

"Lysithea?? Is that really you?" Hilda asked, palming Sylvain’s face when he tried to take the phone back. 

"Hilda!" For how Lysithea acted like she was above ‘childish’ things like joy, she sounded delighted.

"Oh Goddess Lysithea it's so good to hear from you." Hilda was tearing up before she even knew it. She always assumed the worst after the Collapse. Lysithea had fallen ill from exerting her strength during the evacuation, her powers the only way to assure no one was left behind to be picked off by Edelgard’s soldiers. When Lysithea hadn't been out of her coma after a month, Hilda stopped checking. She wasn’t proud of that, but Lysithea was so young and so sure she was going to die, to look Lysithea up and confirm her death would’ve broken another piece of her heart that couldn’t take much more breaking. To hear her voice was like the first good news in years. Lysithea was alive! She was alive, and talking to Hilda, and- "Wait, you _work_ for this clown? She works for you and you never told me?? _Or Claude??? What is WRONG with you!"_

"Ow! Ow, hey!" Sylvain whined as Hilda took broad swipes at him. He swatted away her hand, putting them in some stupid looking slap fight. "It's a privacy policy!"

"Hilda! Stop hitting my boss!" Lysithea yelled over the phone. "It was my choice to not tell you! Frankly I’m insulted you would think Sylvain had any control over my decisions." She said. "I'm sorry he was keeping a secret, but it's only because I asked him to."

"What do you mean?" Hilda asked.

"I've been working for Sylvain for years now. I’m a leading computer scientist for technological research and development at his company. Since he always wants to act like he’s less tech minded than he is, we’ve been working together directly for some time now .” Lysithea replied.

“That’s a fancy way to say she invents stuff and starts bullying me if she thinks I’m off schedule.” Sylvain interjected, though there was fondness in his voice for the friend he’d kept secret. “I’m a mechanics guy in a sea of computer nerds. What a sad fate.”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Lysithea demanded from the tiny speaker on the phone.

“Oops, sorry.”

“Hmph. Back to what I was saying; when Claude showed up to recruit Sylvain, I panicked and ran." Lysithea explained. "You know how things ended last time."

"Oh, Lysithea, I'm sorry, I-" Hilda started. Lysithea wasn’t having it.

"Save your apologies for someone who needs them. I knew Claude would ask me to join if he saw me that day. But I needed time to think. I don't know if I would've been able to be honest with myself if I got caught up in the moment and agreed out right. I asked Sylvain to keep my presence there a secret." 

"What made you change your mind?" Hilda couldn't resist asking. Lysithea paused.

"Those people have wronged me for a long time, Hilda. The idea of getting involved with them again in any capacity is terrifying- but the longer I spend hiding, the angrier I've been getting. My parents, they have powers but they’re old and weak. They don’t know how to use them like I do, if this gets worse, they won’t be able to defend themselves.” She paused again, Hilda letting her have the silence. She never liked it when people pointed out how worked up she got, or how scared she sounded. “And because I know if anybody can pull this off, it’s Claude. He’s never let us down before. I’m sick of being scared and waiting for things to happen." 

"Lysithea…" 

"So we'll be there! There’s some things we need to take care of first, but expect us sunday and don't make us wait!"

"Yeah! Wait. Us? We? Do you have someone else coming with you?" Hilda asked. Lysithea cleared her throat.

"Cyril's here. He volunteered with the remnants of the Institution at the hospital I was in. We've been together ever since- and we’re adults now so don’t say anything weird-!” Lysithea tried to say it fast, as if she could avoid Hilda’s ear splitting excitement. She couldn’t.

“Cyril! I knew it! Oh Goddess, see, I told you! What did I say? I told you he had a crush on you, but nooo, Hilda’s just a gossip. And he’s been with you since the hospital? That’s so cute! Can I say hi to him??” 

“No! You can’t! You’re going to be weird and I told you not to be weird!” Lysithea said curtly.

“Aw, pleeaaaasseeeee?” Hilda insisted.

“Hi, Hilda.” Came Cyril’s unenthusiastic voice.

“Oh, Cyril! Hi! Were you there the whole time?” Hilda asked. “Aw, are you being supportive, that’s so cute.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to talk to you ‘til ‘Sithea didn’t want me to talk to you.” He said.

“I don’t have time for this- I’ll see you sunday!” ” Lysithea cut the conversation there, deciding that was as much teasing as she could put up with. Three beeps rang in Hilda’s ear.

“She hung up on me.” Hilda said, pouting at the phone’s end call screen. The entire call only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like a whole lifetime's worth of bad luck was changing. She caught a glimpse of Sylvain’s homescreen- a pampered looking cat laying belly up. Sylvain took his phone back before she could read the teal collars nametag.

“Yeah, she does that.” Sylvain said, doing a quick run through of his notifications and deciding nothing there was important enough to keep it out of his pocket. 

“I can’t believe it, she’s going to be here. Her and Cyril. It’s been so long since I’ve seen anyone from our old class that wasn’t Claude. Claude! I gotta go tell Claude!” Hilda said, running out of the kitchen and all the self loathing that had filled it. 

“Whoa! Hold up, I wanna see his face when he hears this!” He ran after her, but it was a short chase. The momentum broke when Hilda suddenly stopped, holding out an arm to catch Sylvain before they barreled into Claude.

They stood just in front of the couch Claude had barricaded with endless paperwork. Their leader had gone and passed out, a lofi jazz playlist still going in Claude’s ears from a pair of yellow earbuds. Hilda was so excited to share the news that she had forgotten how concerned she was for him, but now it was apparent she should’ve been more worried. The skin around his eyes was dark, as dark as they’d been five years ago after a chain of funerals for their friends, a tensed expression frozen on his pale, unconscious face, and his hand had grown so used to holding a pen that not even sleep eased it from his grip. Hilda couldn’t remember the last time she saw him sleep, always awake before her and staying up after she went to bed.

“Oh, Claude…” She whispered, crestfallen. Sylvain watched Hilda watching Claude. 

“Hey.” Sylvain whispered, catching her attention again. “Lets let him sleep. Come on,” He waved for her to follow, quietly walking his way back to the hallway. She followed, but stopped and spared a glance at her friend. There was a feeling of protectiveness that made her hesitate, like she couldn’t leave him unguarded out here, alone and cornered by the sea of books. But she knew it was absurd to think there was any danger to protect him against besides exhaustion, so she had to go before her presence woke him up. She tore away from him, trailing back to where Sylvain was waiting.

“He looks so tired.” Hilda restated the obvious, peeking out of the kitchen even though she couldn’t see him from here.

“I know. So hear me out on this one.” Sylvain said, holding up a finger. “We… _don't_ tell him they’re showing up. _Yet_.” He thought it would take more explaining, that he’d get told his idea was stupid, but Hilda caught on immediately.

“You’re right, he’ll work himself even harder if he thinks he’s got someone he needs to impress.” Hilda said, twirling some long pink hair between her fingers contemplatively. “He’s got two days before they show up. I don’t even want to _know_ what a double all nighter looks like and he’s been ‘joking’ about that way too much.” 

“Yeah, see? You get it. But now that I think about it, not telling him isn’t going to slow him down, is it. It’ll only keep him from getting worse.” Sylvain said, crossing his arms over his chest as he thought.

“ _Worse??_ Is that even possible? What’s worse than a double all nighter?” Hilda asked. “Do you think there’s something we can do to help him?”

“Um. Cocaine? That’ll make it a triple all nighter.” Sylvain got his arm thwaped for that. 

“If you try giving my stupid stupid best friend coke!” She smacked his arm again, “I am going to cause the biggest scandal, do you hear me, Sylvain??” She vowed, pointing a pink nail right up in his face.

“I was joking, it was a joke! You think I’m going to give someone who looks like _that_ coke? I don’t even know where to get it-! No that’s a lie, I’m rich, I do know where to get it, but I don’t touch that stuff!” Sylvain pleaded his case in front of a jury of Hilda who was NOT amused. “Well what do _you_ think will help? You know him better, what’re you asking me for?”

“I don’t know, I’m not his babysitter. Ugh, let me think.” Hilda bounced her leg, hands on her hips. “Hmmm… He’ll probably just sleep for like, 12 hours and get right back to what he’s doing now unless he’s distracted. Sooooo….. hhmmmm…. Oh! Today’s Friday! So that makes tomorrow Saturday, more specifically Saturday night. Are heroes allowed to go clubbing? Is having fun like, part of our lives anymore?” She knew there would be some major changes in her life, but she had yet to map out the full extent to what being a hero would affect.

“I don’t see why not.” Sylvain shrugged. “There’s nothing around anymore saying we can’t, and that out of costume conduct code was a load of shit to begin with if we’re being honest. I don’t think Seteth’s going to be popping out of hiding just to give us detention. Unless you show up in costume, that is, I can see him calling in the hall monitor for that.”

“Obviously not, duh. I brought way cuter clothes with me than that sweaty costume.” She said with a little toss of her hair, knowing her fashion sense was something to be proud of.

“So we got the time and a place. How do we convince him to go?” Sylvain asked, scratching the back of his neck.

* * *

The books were gone when Claude woke up. All of them. The journals and notebooks were gone, the sticky notes and folders were gone, his laptop was gone, and even the pens were nowhere to be seen. Not a single highlighter or stray cap. Nothing. 

Claude tried to sit up, but had to stop and wrestle with a blanket that had been tucked under him at some point. He didn’t even remember falling asleep, the last thing he remembered was the weight of some seventh volume law book in his hands. He was going through and marking the exact passages he would be referencing to defend the legality of an assembly of heroes without institutional clearing. The Institution sure did the leg work of making sure heroes couldn’t hold consistent assembly outside their approval, but now that Rhea was gone, he had to make sure post-institution hero groups had a leg to stand on. He’d been pondering over how a retroactive hero unionization would work out since the Institution never _technically_ legally dissolved; and that had been enough to knock him out into a sleep so long, it could barely be considered a nap if not for its sporadicity.

The blanket sure gave him trouble, but he eventually won the fight, arms freed from the woollen fleece. He looked around, almost falling back on the couch with the slip of his elbow off the cushion. Hilda and Sylvain were sitting in the other stupidly expensive couches looking at him. Watching him. He didn’t like that, he didn’t like that at all. 

“Where’s my stuff?” Claude asked, trying to rub the sand from his eyes. Gross. He was dehydrated. But there were more important things to do, like figuring out where his books went.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sylvain dismissed.

“I’m gonna worry about it even more now.” Claude made a second attempt at sitting up, kicking the blanket to the floor for good measure. 

“You’re finally awake and that’s all you got to say? What about, ‘good morning Hilda’? It’s not morning but good evening sounds too much like some lame vampire.” Hilda said, because now it was her turn to poke at him.

“Good morning, Hilda. Where’s my stuff. Wait- were you watching me sleep?”

“Ew, no. We were waiting for you to get up! Even went out and got lunch, you were still out when we came back.” Hilda stood up, joining him on the couch where his things had once been. “And all those heavy books and junk? That,” she poked his nose. “Is a secret.” Claude stared at her while his brain was rebooting.

“...A secret.” Claude repeated suspiciously. Sylvain joined on Claude’s left. He propped his arm up behind Claude, effectively surrounding him on all sides. 

“We didn’t throw it away or anything! Just consider your mini law center to have been temporarily relocated.” Sylvain said with a playful wink, manspreading for added effect. Claude squinted at him, his sleep heavy mind still putting the pieces together. He looked at Hilda in hopes of getting some back up. He received no such comforts, only finding a pixie-like smile with no support in sight.

Claude finally recognized this for what it was. He was on the receiving end of a scheme. 

“Oh no.” Claude said, looking between them a handful of times. “I don’t like that you’re conspiring against me now, that’s not what I had in mind when I said teaming together. You’re not supposed to work against me.”

“We’re not working against you, this is us helping you!” Hilda objected.

“Come on, aren’t you gonna ask _why_ we’re ‘conspiring’?” Sylvain asked, neither of them dropping the heavy handed mischief.

“No. I know you’re waiting for me to ask, I’m not giving you that satisfaction.” Claude said, because he felt like being difficult.

“I’m so glad you asked!” Hilda said, steamrolling right over his protest as she tossed her arms around his shoulders. She poked his cheek and it felt like being held at gunpoint. “We’re going clubbing!” The idea of going out made the deep fatigue in Claude’s bones go even deeper, weighing him like cement shoes.

“Hilda I love you- Sylvain you’re on thin ice- but I think any exposure to neon lights is going to make me shrivel up and die. I’ll shrink up like a raisin and get washed down the drains to be with the ninja turtles.” His hand went flat and made a wave, moving in front of them until his arm could go no further. He spread his fingers to do a little jazz hand for emphasis. “That’s me. Donatello is going to snack on my corpse.”

“Donatello wouldn’t eat you. I think Raphael would first. Or Michelangelo, he’s none too bright.” Sylvain added, knowingly getting away from the point Claude was making with his vague knowledge of the Ninja Turtles.

“Okay well you can work that out in some turtle-y fanfiction, point is I’m not going. I haven’t slept in days, do you want me trampled to bad EDM?” Claude asked.

“It won’t be tonight, obviously.” Sylvain said, crossing an ankle over his knee. “You need to rest first. I mean, you just admitted how tired you’ve been. Days? Did I hear that right? You haven’t slept in days?” He smiled, looking way too satisfied repeating Claude’s words back to him. Claude frowned, realizing he’d just been hooked in a trap.

Claude had been working day in and day out on the reestablishment of Heroes. He had a duty to fulfill and needed allies as soon as possible. He felt he couldn’t follow up on the connections he was attempting to reestablish with his old class if he didn’t have a way to back up their support, at least not in good consciousness. Leonie had already agreed to it, along with Raphael who was getting in touch with Igntaz, and they’d be showing up any day now. Judith had been off the grid for a long time, just like every other older hero, but he was fairly sure that he was following a line she had tossed to him to test his ability to find her. He had to make sure their faith in him wasn’t misplaced. To do that, he had to work hard. He liked working hard, too, he liked the fact he was able to sculpt his ideas into a reality. But in doing that, Claude had brushed off their concern and his own health. He denied it, telling himself he was going to rest _eventually_ and that he’d go to bed _soon_ , but soon came and went and before Claude knew it, the sun was coming up. 

It’d been like this for a while now, and every time he found some reason to brush Hilda or Sylvain off. But now was different. They caught him off guard, made him admit to his over-working without any pressing questions or chance for Claude to talk his way out of it. It was actually pretty ingenious, getting to him when the lack of sleep had severely thrown Claude off his game.

Claude deflated. For the first time in a long time he let himself feel tired. His shoulders slumped, the tension held in his jaw finally giving out. 

“Yeah…” He admitted quietly, already feeling the tension build up again from owning up to such a weakness. But Hilda was never one to linger on the parts of people they didn’t want to talk about. Something he was deeply thankful for in every instance but this one, where her method for moving past it was wrestling Claude to the ground. 

“I knew it!”

“HEY! Hilda hold up- WHOA!” 

She hoisted Claude up over her shoulder with her commonly overlooked strength. He never forgot how easily her strength outmatched his own, but Claude liked to think he gained at least some muscle mass over the years, thinking maybe moves like this one would be somewhat harder to pull on him. It wasn’t. Hilda was one of the strongest people he’d ever met and she purposefully made it very easy to miss. Now she made it very clear. 

“Shush!” She tried to silence his protest and Sylvain’s laughter but only succeeded in the first. “You’re going to bed and getting so much sleep and tomorrow you’re taking a bubble bath and doing a face mask and all those fixings because I’m not going out with an ugly friend!” 

“OKAY, okay! I get it! Bedtime for the leader, but is this necessary!?” Claude protested.

“Yes! If you’re gonna keep _lying_ to me then I’m taking matters into my own hands. I’m saving you from yourself, Claude! You’re. Welcome.” Hilda tightened her grip on Claude, his feet kicked uselessly. 

“You might’ve missed the memo but we’re heroes now.” Sylvain said smugly, having fun being a witness to Claude’s lesson in humility. “We help people! No need to thank us.”

“Good thing you’ve made your peace with that because I’m not going to.” Claude said pointedly at Sylvain’s laughing face. He would’ve pointed too if his arms weren’t pinned- he once again tried and failed to worm his way out of Hilda’s hold. “Can I at least get something to eat first!” 

* * *

So sleep Claude did. And he slept a long time, cresting over the 14 hour mark until he couldn’t bear being stationary any longer. Hilda hadn’t been kidding about all the superficial selfcare stuff, either. So he did it, if anything because he wasn’t going to say no to some pampering. Yes, it included the bubble bath. There was something about sitting in a massive tub of sparkly pink water for an hour that made him feel like a million bucks. They were going somewhere tonight, he wanted to look good. 

With the dawn of their outing upon him, Claude realized that his facial hair had gotten out of whack. It took some time to fully grow out the way Claude preferred to wear it, having not gotten his dad's ability to grow facial hair in the mixed bag of his genes, but the hair that had managed to grow under his jaw and down his neck was real and looked horrendous. It was then he remembered the footage taken of Verdant had Claude sporting his beard. His jaw was one of the few things not fully obscured by a mask or glowing powers that kept digital equipment from fully capturing his visage. Realizing that he may be recognized for his facial hair, he shaved it off. It was an additional risk he didn’t need to live with. So long, mostly beard, it was nice while it lasted. By the time night rolled around, he felt and looked like a new man. 

“Maybe you’ll get some action.” Sylvain said from Hilda’s bed as he waited for them to finish getting ready. He was the first to get ready since he’d been the only one to opt out of wearing any level of makeup.

“You really want me to bring someone back to _your_ place?” Claude asked, letting Hilda trace some gold pigment across his eyelid. 

“It’s a penthouse in my name. It’s not like I live here anymore.” Sylvain corrected. “And yes, I do. You’re all wound up. All work and no play doesn’t suit you.”

“Let me guess. You want to fill that role?” Claude asked, glancing over at Sylvain.

“I wasn’t necessarily talking about myself but, hey, I’m down if you are. You do look _really_ good. I think I prefer you without the beard.” Sylvain said flirtatiously, throwing Claude a wink. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Claude shut him down, looking straight on at the brush Hilda was swirling into a pan of eyeshadow. 

It’d been awhile since he’d done something like this. Yeah, he’d gone out clubbing with Hilda before, but he hadn’t let himself dip back into the androgyny he enjoyed in his late teen years. It was a form of self expression looked down upon in the university settings Claude threw himself into after the Academy had collapsed, and his grandfather had been none too shy about suggesting he ‘be more a man's man’ and ‘straighten out’. But he fast tracked his political science and law studies, and his grandfather wasn’t long for the world. Soon he was without anyone holding him to those standards, but it was still a presentation Claude went along with for the way it got him treated better. 

After so long in hiding, he realized the masculinity that had taken priority in his appearance had not been for himself but for those around him. Claude had learned to adapt his demeanor and appearance a lot for the sake of others comfort, and by extensions, for the sake of his safety. He had to play it safe. Both as a mixed race man and as someone who- well _was_ a man, but was something else, too. Something other. He couldn’t change the color of his skin or where he was born, but he could grow out his facial hair, cut out his braid, and wear his hair in a way that accented the harder edges of his face. He could get boxier clothes, stop wearing tints on his lips, and throw away the eyeshadows he’d only begun working up the courage for before the Collapse had changed his life. So he did that, and it was a miserable experience.

He hadn’t let himself think too hard on it, but the last time he felt the freedom to explore his appearance and gender expression was at the Heroes Academy, where they all had, in some overly simplified and incomparable way, been brought together by otherness. Where he learned most, if not all of his peers were LGBT. 

Now he had his PhD and didn’t have to mascarade around in those political science classes where he hid his sexuality. In those classes and most places in general, the only people who were truly allowed to express sexuality outside of a heteronormative default were white men, and they were boastful about adhering to a strict cisgender binary. They would’ve seen Claude as a fetish had he felt he were allowed to express himself without risking ostracizing. Being outted could have lost Claude his PhD all together if that information reached some secretly bigoted board members he’d be defending his dissertation to. He was too many ‘others’ for it to go without comment had he not hidden it. 

Claude first braided his hair again after receiving his doctorate, comfortable with the fact he would never have to smile through another professor’s microaggression. No more grades for Claude. No authority that wasn’t his own- at least for the time being.

“He’s not doing this for you.” Hilda said, waving a brush at Sylvain. Claude smiled. In her trip out to find things for that bubble bath she had been so serious about Claude taking, she had found a tube of lipgloss Claude once often wore. While it wasn’t exactly the same, (the brand had discontinued it two years into Claude’s schooling,) it was close enough to catch her eye with its striking familiarity. Sheer and peach toned, it even smelled identical. Close enough to remind him of the good times, but not too much that it’d flash him back to the trauma he faced on his last days of freedom over his self expression. If he could muster the courage to dig his hero’s costume out of the closet, maybe he could pull himself out with it.

“But I might be doing it for a pretty face at the bar.” Claude quipped. Hilda would never understand the depth of his struggles as a half Almyran man, but the genuine joy on her face when she saw Claude wear an old favorite on his lips had meant a lot to him. And he felt a little closer to the people around him that way. 

“A sentiment I share. I’m a great wingman, they’ll be all over you.” Sylvain said, encouraging in his own weird way. Claude had been a little worried about Sylvain’s reaction to Claude being gender nonconforming, even though he was already certain Sylvain was bi from his time at the Academy. He knew a lot of people like Sylvain, he saw them in those classes. Born rich, never facing consequence, treating women poorly… Having a plausibly deniable interest in men didn’t automatically disqualify all the parts of Sylvain that sucked. It didn’t mean Sylvain wouldn’t be weird about another non straight man. But one quick search online of the club Sylvain had suggested showed it was a popular gay club, one that played host to a drag scene. 

Sylvain often set himself up to be butt of jokes with passive rich guy antagonizing, even getting uncomfortable if he couldn’t hide behind that untouchable, overly aloof persona and the riffing that would rise from those dynamics. He didn’t want others to take him too seriously, and while not everyone could read that energy or play off it in a way that wasn’t awkward, Claude and Hilda could. Maybe that’s why he felt comfortable enough to stubly offer up the information that his favorite spot was a gay club, because his friends were tactful enough to be observant yet nonchalant.

Seems Claude was in a room of biseuxals and hadn’t fully understood it.

“Wow, Sylvain, you’re soooo talented. Could you be a great designated driver, too?? Since you’re like, so good at everything.” Hilda said in a half hearted attempt to flatter her way out of sober duty.

“No dice. I can’t be amazing at everything, and I’ve enough humility in me to admit that, that? That just isn’t in the cards for me tonight.” Sylvain said it with heavy sarcasm, in that tone smug rich guys took when they thought they were being humble. Like he was at the front of a board meeting or giving an overly masturbatory TEDtalk. He sighed dramatically, as if taking on all the world's troubles. “Besides, you’re not even driving! And rock paper scissors was your idea in the first place.”

“Double or nothing.” Hilda put her fist in her palm.

“Sorry, gotta know when to roll ‘em and when to fold ‘em.” Sylvain spouted off some more canned wisdom and folded his arms behind his head, flopping back on her bed, officially disengaging in her efforts.

“There’s no talking down a man who folded, Hilda.” Claude said, as if he had room to talk about taking bold risks. He took the brush fisted in Hilda’s hand to finish the touch of gold himself. Hilda had done an amazing job, as usual. He looked at himself in the mirror, a feeling of euphoria taking shape in his chest.

His shirt was less a shirt and more a blouse, black and with the slightest hint of transparency. Loose at the shoulders and fitted only to the cuffs on his wrists, it was open down his chest where thin gold jewelry hung in display against his skin, then tucked in at his waist with a yellow gold belt. Equally dark high waisted pants hugging to the lines of his silhouette rather than hanging off in a baggy poof, something he’d often do to have better leg mobility. The heels of his boots were taller and narrower than his usual shoes, fitting for how slender he looked once he lacked layered clothes. Nothing exaggerated in height or style like Hilda’s red 6 inch stilettos, but black chelsea boots with a pointed toe and yellow on the soles, rounding him up to 5'11”. That height felt like a whole new world in and of itself. 

His earring was in, a braid framed his face, and the gold around his eyes was lovely.

He looked as he felt, and in the mirror was someone not hiding behind shoulder pads or facial hair. That was exciting but scary, too. Claude knew he wasn’t nearly as dressed up or expressive as a lot of the people they would see at the club, but to Claude, this felt vulnerable. He wasn’t meticulously crafting his presentation like he usually did. He didn’t dress and groom himself in a way that would let him move through his environment without incurring the wrath or prejudice someone as foreign as him would receive. All things he had to do in order to establish himself in the world he wanted to better, things Claude knew he would have to do again, it was inevitable. 

But right now was different. He wasn’t doing this for anyone, there was nobody he had to impress or take charge of. Claude was doing this for himself. 

“I’d say I feel younger but any younger and they wouldn’t let me in.” He joked at the expense of his own clean shave, running his knuckles against a smooth jaw. Yet there was truth to it. He felt the youth he so commonly forgot he still possessed, he felt rejuvenated, and he felt more like himself. Unmasked and smiling.

“They also won’t let you in if we don’t show up.” Hilda shook a can of setting spray and blasted it in his face. “Wait for it to dry and then put on this mascara, trust me.” Hilda said, fanning his wet face with her clutch. 

“Can you hurry up?” Sylvain asked in typical guy fashion, checking his phone impatiently. 

“What’s the rush? Didn’t you say you could get us inside fast? Or were you just trying to impress us.” Claude asked.

“Of course I can, the owner pays me rent. The driver waiting on us doesn’t.”

“Fair enough.” 

* * *

Fhirdiad was a lot colder than Dierdru, even on the late spring night. Claude looked great but gods, the prices he paid to do so. A breeze billowed into his shirt. Claude crossed his arms over himself, conserving his body heat in the thin shirt. He didn’t know how Hilda was out here in her little white dress, but suddenly the turtleneck short sleeve Sylvain wore made a lot more sense. 

“Do we really have to wait here?” Claude asked, looking forward. There was a bit of a line to get in, and it wasn't dreadfully long, but was still unnecessary considering Sylvain’s connections. 

“Skipping ahead will do more to make us look like assholes than to actually grab attention, trust me. We _are_ going to be seeing these people inside afterall.” Sylvain said, flicking through his phone idly. 

“Uuugh, we’ll be standing around forever.” Hilda groaned. She was already grabbing the attention of the people in line with her looks. Always a popular girl. Claude had some words on his lips ready to go, a scheme in his pocket where they used their dazzling personalities and revealed cleavage to cut in front of people, but something stopped him. 

Claude had never been to this part of Fhirdiad before. In his short time here he never really explored the city because every day had been spent toiling over his proposition for a new heroes assembly and digitally stalking old classmates. But it was Fhirdiad. And there was significance to the legacy of heroes here. Across the street, on a building's windowless wall, there was a mural. 

The silhouette of Lionheart, holding up the roof of the building with the cityline of Fhirdad painted behind him. The building was almost big enough to capture how much larger than life Lionheart truly was. A recapturing of Lionheart’s iconic moment, a moment that marked the start of the golden age of heroes. It was an image Claude had seen a lot of when he first came to Fodlan. A young Lionheart holding up the beams of a collapsed building all his own, people rushing out from behind him to safety after an attack on a hospital. He had crawled his way out of the fallen debris of the building, inch by inch, moving slowly so those around him who were trapped could stick close and not be crushed. 

Everybody knew the famous image. What they didn’t know was that the photo was really a frame of a video that had been hidden from the public. A solemn news reporter was cut off by the rising of a metal pillar behind her, a muscular blond man straining with the weight as he rose from the ashes and clawed through certain death. There in torn business clothes, hair caked in blood, holding tons of metal overhead, was Lionheart. A pillar of hope. Of bravery. Of heroism. The video had been archived at the Academy and only a black and white photo made public, his head hanging low and obscuring his identity. All those present at the rise of Lionheart knew who he was, what he was capable of, his true name. But they had agreed to not share it. Some kind of lesson in bravery. If you were brave enough to do good for the world, to help people, people would recognize it, and reward that with loyalty. Lionheart’s true name was Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd, a once politician in Fhirdiad who had helped the city grow and then retired from that life to protect it in the way he uniquely could. It was the defining moment of that age of heroes, and because of Lionheart's endorsement, the Academy was able to reach widely across Fodlan.

When Claude thought about it, that lesson Seteth gave on that day felt really propaganda-y. ‘Leave the politics to the institution’ was the baseline of the whole thing, ‘waste no time concerned about those things and more about the action.’ He remembered Seteth pointing Dimitri out in the crowd that day, and how there was no pride on Dimitri’s face for what were his fathers proudest moments. His whole life was kept a secret from the public because of Lionheart’s importance, and then after he died, his days were spent training to fill the gap his father had left in the world.

When Claude first saw the video, all he could think of was how much that man looked like Dimitri. Now, all he could do was the similar way Dimitri’s arms flexed as he tore down the Institution, and how the world would never see that bravery the way they saw Dimitri’s father. Only Claude had been witness to it, watching his back as the sky fell and crushed Dimitri. There was no pride. The world never knew his name. None of Lionheart’s grandeur deserved all Dimitri did to honor it, it didn’t deserve his sacrifices.

_“Politics aren’t so simple.”_ Dimitri had once said to him after Claude had deciphered the horrifying fact that technically, due to the intersection of laws hiding the identity of heroes and the claim they held for Lionheart’s legacy, the Heroes Institution _owned_ Dimitri. It owned dozens of young orphans with superpowers. And that was terrifying. And it was something they wanted to change. _Something they were going to change._ Now only Claude left to pick up the pieces. 

Him and Dimitri. They had so many plans...

“Claude!” Hilda snapped her fingers in front of his face, dragging Claude back into his body. He looked at her concerned face, her eyes darting back to the mural of Lionheart. She dragged Claude ahead in the line before he could refocus on it. They were skipping in front of people, passing comments telling Hilda to go warm up inside, tipping Claude off to the fact she had the same ideas of cutting ahead as he did before he was derailed by the mural. 

“Sorry about that.” Claude murmured, feeling self-conscious. He grimaced, unseen as he kept his head down. He hadn’t let himself think of Dimitri since that time in the cafe, and he’d been successful up until now. It was easier to try and not think of him, and Claude had gotten so good at it, but thoughts of Dimitri had a way of sneaking up on him that the rest of his sorrows did not.

“Don’t even mention it, man. I get it,” Sylvain said, patting him on the back. “There’s lots of those around the city.” Sylvain frowned at the mural as they fast passed to the door. Sylvain had lost a friend that day, too, he was no stranger to the morbid reminders and the need to get away from them. Sylvain didn’t look too hard at Claude and Claude returned the favor. 

The sadness in their eyes could be hidden in the dark of night. His friends could leave their mourning at the door. Only street lamps and the speckling of neon would know, and even then Claude would be able to drown his sorrows in distractions and drinks until those lights meant nothing. Until a mural was just paint on a big wall. 

At least for one night.

**Author's Note:**

> It's here! I've been working on a superhero dmcl au for some time now! I'll occasionally be posting graphics and visual aids, but if you want to see more, including costume designs and WIPs, they'll be on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/grayvamp) here!
> 
> I really hope you like it. Stay tuned for more to come!


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